“I don’t see how it could hurt.” Cash pushed his empty plate aside. “If they don’t pay their lease, we own their crop.”
“Flowers?” Sawyer pulled a face.
“I did a little research and cut flowers are damned profitable,” Cash said. “On average, about thirty thousand in sales per acre.”
Jace perked up. “No shit?”
“Maybe we should eliminate the UC Davis girls and plant them ourselves.” Sawyer was joking, but he had no idea flowers grossed so well. A cow-calf pair needed roughly two to five acres of land. Without doing a lot of fancy math, Sawyer was thinking the flowers had a bigger return. At least in the short term.
“You want to be a farmer?” Cash didn’t have to ask because the answer was a resoundingno.
They were ranchers, born and raised, even if Sawyer and Cash grew up in the city. As Grandpa Dalton used to say, it was in their DNA and nothing could change that, not even Beverly Hills. Or in Cash’s case, San Francisco.
“What about the shop they want?” Sawyer supposed the three of them could build it themselves to save on labor costs.
“If we’re planning to lease out business space, we’ll have to supply the infrastructure,” Jace said. “No way around that, right?”
Cash nodded. “It doesn’t mean we have to supply them with a refrigeration system or any of the other bells and whistles they need for a floral shop. Just bare bones is the way I see it. The rest is up to them.”
Sawyer agreed. “What about fencing for their fields? Anything deer-proof will cost a hell of a lot of money.”
“I think that’s on them, too,” Cash said.
“The big question is water.” Jace looked from Cash to Sawyer.
“I say we give them two price options,” Sawyer said. “One with water, one without. They could always truck in their own tank.”
“Yeah, I’m good with that.” Jace glanced at his watch again. “We’ll have to come up with some numbers.”
“We might also offer profit sharing.” Cash hitched his shoulders. “Farming’s always a gamble, but as far as the flowers, I like the returns. Something to think about, anyway.”
Sawyer glanced over at Mitch and Randy’s table. The men were in deep conversation, which couldn’t be good.
“I’ve gotta motor.” Jace reached for his wallet and Sawyer swatted his hand away.
“I’ll take care of the bill. You can get it next time.”
Jace and Cash left at the same time. Sawyer squared up with Laney at the register and went into the kitchen to say hello to Jimmy Ray, who was up to his ass in alligators. The dining room was hopping.
Every Wednesday the local cattlemen met for breakfast. As always, five big tables had been pushed together to accommodate them.
“Sawyer,” one of the cowboys called him over. “How you boys doin’?”
It didn’t matter that he and his cousins were all in their mid-thirties or that Jace was the county’s sheriff. To this group of ranchers, his grandfather’s best friends, Sawyer, Jace, and Cash would always be “boys.”
Sawyer took an empty chair at the table. “Fair to middling. How ’bout you, Joe?”
“Real fine as long as the price of beef holds.” He grinned. “Your grandfather would’ve been real proud of you boys.” Joe turned to look at Mitch’s table and in a low voice said, “Randy’s kids are already counting the money. Damned shame.”
Sawyer didn’t say anything even though Joe was right. He had no love for Jill Beals Tucker or her brother, Pete. “I got to get home and do some writing. It was good seeing you, Joe.”
“When’s that war book coming out?”
“Late next year.”
“I’m looking forward to reading it. Say hi to Jace and Cash for me.”
“You just missed them,” Sawyer said.
